


The Gods of Luck and Chance Get into an Argument

by thatsrightdollface



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Character Study, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsrightdollface/pseuds/thatsrightdollface
Summary: Many of the faithful were surprised to learn the gods of Luck and Chance were two such ridiculously different people, but I promise you it’s true.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Komaeda Nagito & Oma Kokichi, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 100





	The Gods of Luck and Chance Get into an Argument

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!!! I hope you enjoy this, if you read it~~~ I started it ages ago, but just finished it up recently. Hopefully it came out okay -- I'm sorry for any and all mistakes I might've made. 
> 
> Thank you so much!!!

Many of the faithful were surprised to learn the gods of Luck and Chance were two such ridiculously different people, but I promise you it’s true. Luck was hazy-eyed and inevitable, back then — he was tides or a swinging pendulum, he was gravity and the surety of falling. Chance, on the other hand, was like throwing all the cards in a deck into the wind, just to see which ones got all fucked up. Maybe the wind caught some of ‘em, or a bird claimed one for a nest, or Chance didn’t actually let _all_ the cards go and there he was waving one in your face, all of a sudden, with such a smirking grin. 

Do you see what I mean, now? People called Luck “Nagito Komaeda,” if they knew him well enough to kneel at his feet as he preached and laughed, as he schemed and worried and wanted. Luck is a desperate, hungry thing, and Nagito was picky with what offerings his followers brought, back when he still got offerings. If you cooked him rice, he wanted toast; if you brought him devotion, he thought he wasn’t good enough for it, surely, and you probably meant to give all those pretty prayers to some _other_ god, didn’t you? Or maybe you’re even mocking him? Ah, and people called Chance “Kokichi Oma,” too, in those days. If you believe the rumors, people _still_ call Chance “Kokichi Oma,” though he’s cut ties with all pantheons, so the story goes, and is off sowing innocent chaos with a band of humans wearing clown masks even as we speak. They call themselves D.I.C.E. 

Enough about the future, though. We’re talking about the past, when Luck wore a heavy chain around his neck all the time — yes, even when he was sleeping — and Chance had bubbly laughing grape soda eyes that actually crackled like carbonation when he got an idea. We’re talking about sing-song order vs. spontaneity and defiance; we’re talking about a day when Kokichi decided it would be funny to prank Nagito’s husband — the god of Hope, who people called Hajime Hinata — and Nagito came to find him afterwards with a grudge. Hajime’s hair had been very long ever since he became the god of Hope, and Kokichi stuck a new human invention called “gum” somewhere in it, along with a tiny bell that jingled whenever Hajime walked. It was either awful or hilarious, depending on who you asked.

Hajime had been reading through books and books of his followers’ prayers for a good while, that day, deciding how to answer each one. Gnawing on the inside of his godly cheek; worrying over petty strangers that weren’t even eternal, that couldn’t even come a tiny bit close to the Hope Nagito knew his husband carried inside him the same way humans carried blood and breath and all sorts of disgusting physical goo. Nagito had knelt behind him, rambling about stuff he wouldn’t remember, give it an hour or so. Embarrassing stuff, maybe, that would make him flinch thinking his husband had heard him, damn it he had actually _heard_ him — though Hajime would love the god of Luck through anything, so he didn’t need to worry. Just look at some of Nagito’s grislier myths and you’ll know that for sure. Nagito had cut the gum out of Hajime’s hair, tsk-ing under his sing-song wandering breath. 

It was purple grape-flavored gum. Nagito frowned. Chance defied everything he knew about fortune, about the balance of the universe, about there having to be an actual bleeding _cost_ for everything a person got out of life... and now Chance was sticking gum in his husband’s hair, too?! For every good thing Nagito tasted, he had felt pain. That was the force of Luck as he understood it, as he had _always_ understood it, since so long before humans came to be, since so long before Chance was even numbered among the gods. Though... if you were to believe what _Kokichi_ said... Chance and unraveling had always been lying in wait. The very oldest of the cosmic forces, don’t you know. Older even than the dark. 

Chance is an awful liar to this day, if you believe the rumors... but hey. For all I know, that last bit is even true. 

Nagito found Kokichi watching a puppet show with his favorite prophet, who had been a detective until Chance scooped him up in his palm and said, “Hey there, you. I think you’re awfully neat, did you know that? So I’m gonna show you the future!” Detective Shuichi Saihara was often baffled by the god of Chance, but he also kissed Kokichi’s cheek before he went off to do godly battles like pantheons sometimes have to do, and clutched his pale pickpocketing hand like he was afraid Chance himself could actually get hurt. They were in love, which was another thing Nagito just absolutely couldn’t understand. What sort of god dated his own prophet? Wasn’t that against a divine law, somewhere? And... and wasn’t it sort of gross, holding a human’s hand? Humans were always rotting, you know. Nagito had worn a dead goddess’s arm instead of his own for actual centuries, back in the day, and that thing had smelled terrible by the end. He’d deserved it, though, he said. It was fair that _he_ should be sort of gross, but it didn’t make a whole ton of sense to him why Hajime had chosen to date him, either. 

An important point about the god of Chance’s puppet shows: he always asked his priests not to script any of them out before the performance started up, so they cobbled together into something meandering and outrageous nearly every time. Kokichi was laughing, when Nagito found him, and the former Detective Saihara was leaning forward with his chin propped on his hand, brows furrowed, trying to figure out what exactly he was watching. From the doorway, it was pretty difficult for Nagito to follow anything that was going on, himself.

“Lord Chance,” Nagito drawled, voice so passive-aggressive and quietly venomous that Hajime might have smirked a little to hear it, remembering when Nagito used to talk to _him_ that way. It had been eons, since that particular godly war. “Far be it from a lowly creature like me to interrupt your _so obviously_ important duties, but I was wondering if you might have lost this. Please forgive my intrusion, if you can. I know it might be difficult.” Nagito held the gum and its sticky bell up to the light. Kokichi slung his arm around his prophet’s shoulders, leaning over to get a better look. 

“Oh. Nah,” Kokichi said, shooting Nagito a wicked smile. “But you know whose it might be? The goddess of Protection’s. You should _definitely_ go ask her.” 

Both Kokichi and Nagito knew Tenko Chabashira wouldn’t take kindly to a question like that. Kokichi waggled his eyebrows, and Nagito swayed forward, just a bit. Letting something ancient and cold as his chains seep into his voice. He did it out of love, this time. Not only love of Order and Hope, though of course Nagito loved those things more than he loved himself, but love of Hajime Hinata. His husband had been irritated by that bell. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t decent.

Every time you rise, you have to fall. That’s the rule. That’s the way Luck goes. Isn’t it?

Every time you laugh, you’ll have to scream, just like with those theater masks Kokichi had hanging behind his cosmic puppet show stage. 

“I suppose I’ll have to tell the goddess of Protection that if she can’t hold on to her things, there may be consequences, down the line,” Nagito offered. “I suppose I’ll have to tell her that what’s coming, one way or another, is sadly inevitable.”

“You do that,” Kokichi said. “I’ve never much liked how you deal with humans — all this ‘it’s inevitable’ shit — but... you know best. Obviously.” Kokichi’s crackling eyes said, _Nothing is inevitable. Silly old god. Don’t you know?_

“Mmm. I guess you prefer how _you_ deal with humans — please don’t tell me you told this poor mortal thing you’re planning to love him forever! Even a ridiculous excuse for a deity like me knows that would be too cruel.” Nagito’s shaky, lopsided grin said, _We’re all getting what we’re owed, in time. Are you ready to pay the price for your happiness?_

But in the end, the two gods of Luck and Chance just bowed their heads to each other, that day. Whatever war might come between them was still a long way off; the offerings were still coming, and all the members of D.I.C.E. had yet to be born. 

“Do you wanna stay and watch the puppet show?” Kokichi asked, very innocently, of course. “It’s a good one this time.”

“I’m sure it is,” said Nagito. “But I’m afraid the prayers keep coming in. Not prayers to _me_ , obviously. My husband’s prayers. Prayers for something that matters — for Hope.” 

“Alrighty then,” sniffed the god of Chance. Maybe he was smothering a laugh — or maybe he was furious, and only pretending to chuckle? “You do you.” 


End file.
